Often times, I think about how it would be to exist in a sureal reality of existance. In a perfect world where all things were nothing less than perfect. All things that I am as a woman, as a lesbian, are more than perfect. My family, in this sureal existance, is perfect. My partner, is perfect. All things that I need to expericence in life, is perfect.
Perfection is but a dream. A place where I can escape, because in fact things are not perfect as I might like them to be. In walks realty, in walks the imperfections of things that simply are.
My Family: I always thought that as a child I could always rely on them. I don't think that I thought of them as family necessarily, I simply knew them to be the people to rely on. There was no second guessing, maybe a little testing sometimes, but somehow I always knew I could rely on them.
Although I know I must have been a handful gowing up, adopted, opinionated, and oh so full of fire. I always felt this burn in the back of my mind. I knew somehow they would never accept me, the way they accepted their own children. This burn could be equivilated to being adopted, or being gay, or just simply the dynamics of this family. Who really knows what this was but my sister and I used to hover in corners together, wondering the very same things. Not out of fear but out of knowing.
Knowing as a child is so very simple, you know things that now seem somehow muddled by life and by perceptions, and just things.
But the perceptions that my sister and I knew back then as children, are utterly profound to me as an adult. I somehow knew as a child that I should question what it was that my paents represented to me. I don't know if it was a misrepresentation of parenting, or of being adopted. We found that in our childhood perception, of coveting each other and knowing that they were something else, may be it was the perception of our age, or our gender, but more likely we were just perception our placement.
